… but without the leather straps (at least, so far). Sorry, Whit Stillman.

My calendar has blown up with book events. Two weekends ago, I was in St. Louis for an extremely enjoyable Living History weekend that included a straw poll for the Grant-Greeley election. (Spoiler: Grant won.)

Last weekend, I was up before dawn to set up my booth at Haymarket Day, a local event we’ve been going to as consumers since we moved here. One benefit of having a booth? Not having to jockey for a place to sit and watch the parade. Plus having a canopy so the sun wasn’t beating down in my eyes. I also got to talk to a lot of really interesting people and was pleasantly surprised when I sold more than three books, some of them even to actual strangers. It’s funny; I don’t really enjoy being “on” and having to be convivial and engaging, but once the conversation starts, I have been known to catch myself actually enjoying the exchange.

This weekend, I’ll be doing a signing at a local bookstore. It will be interesting to see if I get more or less interest at a book-based venue.

I already have three events lined up for October and another one in December. Plus Thanksgiving and Christmas vacations.

And yet, I feel like I probably ought to be doing more, and faster. Like if I don’t reach out immediately to This Bookstore and That Library in neighboring counties, they will reject me. But I only have so many hours in a day. It’s a marathon, not a sprint. Every new sale is a sale I didn’t have yesterday. And all the other platitudes and bromides.

Meanwhile, I’m still dithering over whether I’ll follow this whole mishegas up with some other project or just consider this my victory and depart the field. The answer you get will depend on what moment of what day you happen to ask me, what the weather is like, if the house is a mess, etc., etc. Part of me wants to embark on a long-term something; another part of me wonders if I should direct that energy toward volunteering at the local archives or museum instead, since the research is the part I really love doing. I only have so many hours in a day. It’s a marathon, not a sprint … Wait, did I already say that?

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Lucien Fewell shot James Clark after he apparently ran off with Lucien's 16-year-old sister. The murder trial that followed featured two Confederate generals and a former Virginia governor. What was the verdict? (also on Amazon.com)